Poem of the Month
No Exit

By Robin Richardson

Published on August 1, 2018

I love your world, he said, just keep it to yourself
—I love your mouth.

In a Star Wars-themed fever dream
….I saw him lassoed by a solar flare and held
there in a warmth I couldn’t provide. Blue light
….clicked as I woke, wishing

caffeine came easy as a boy of twenty.
….Think these sausages have feelings.
See them smiling from the skillet, soaking
….olives plucked in Florence by a sun-fold crone.

Wish I’d been there popping bottles
….of Prosecco by the boastful shadow
of that lady. Can’t fake mornings undone
….by a brain as anxious as a surgeon

with a bone to pick. One busted nose
….and I keep thinking it’ll shift again, fall
off: some stupid uncle’s magic trick
….gone wrong: I got your nose, I got your nose!

He got me hooked on the illusion I was whole.

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Postscript(s)

The fall of ’47 I was 25 and still living in Viluta. What made me stay so long? What made me linger in that nothing place, that hamlet of ten houses?

The cellar room

Tightly drawn curtains in the windows. Clay pot planted with balsam fir. Hung with glass balls, walnuts, apples ...

No Justice No Peace

Again.
Another bloody body 
another child dying while

doing the unthinkable
eating food, going home,
eyes meeting impatient suspicion.